


All Roads Lead to Rome

by jusrecht



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Consequences, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, also possible past dubcon, although there will be fluff in between, if you're looking for pure characters happily in love with each other this is not for you, in the sense that circumstances made them do it, like this is literally a family drama, wizarding family politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 06:14:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14349612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: Newt discovered that he had been married to Percival Graves for years.





	All Roads Lead to Rome

**Author's Note:**

> Ssshhh I know I shouldn't be starting another fic but I just can't resist alright.

 

Newt knew that something was terribly wrong when he came home to the sight of his brother sitting on the steps in front of their house.

 

“Seus?” Newt quickly crossed the lawn in a few strides, skipping over the winding stone path. “Why are you… is something wrong?”

 

Their small porch had a single source of light, a mercurial ball of yellow glow that, for one reason or another, only behaved itself in Mrs Scamander’s presence. At present, it floated languidly in its abode of an antique iron lantern and illuminated very little, instead casting a ghostly haze across every surface it touched.

 

Under that ambiguous light, Theseus’s face was a taut, odd mask, and he had the look of one staring at a stranger. When he spoke, it was in a low, stiff monotone. “Sit down, please.”

 

Newt ignored it. “What is it?” he pressed on, frowning. “You’re scaring me.”

 

“Am I?” Something sharp, almost angry, flashed across Theseus’s face. “Well, I guess that makes it all right then. Let’s just call it even, shall we?”

 

Newt’s frown deepened. Slowly, he took a seat next to Theseus, placing his suitcase carefully on a lower step. The weather had turned chilly these past few days, but he hardly paid attention to the cold. Instead, his mind made a quick inventory of everything he had done in the past week but could find nothing of unwarranted consequence. Certainly not the kind that would put that sort of look on his brother’s face. Today was even more unadventurous; he had spent the entire day in the Ministry’s library for research—more or less an exercise in futility, considering the subjects in which he was interested.

 

“All right.” Newt folded his hands together and braced himself for any impending storm. “What did I do?”

 

“It’s not what you did as much as…” Theseus stopped, inhaling sharply, and just like that, any threat of storm disappeared. In its place, Newt could sense the hurt rolling off his brother in waves—which only confused him even more. What had _he_ done?

 

“I’ve been trying to understand why.” Theseus picked up a moment later, as if her were talking to himself. “Only one explanation seems to make any sense. And that is you never actually trust me.”

 

Newt’s confusion turned into downright incredulity. “You call _that_ making sense?”

 

Theseus did not respond for some time. He was staring at the lamp-lit street where a Muggle with thick spectacles and a bulging briefcase ambled past. Newt recognised him as Mr Hornbeam, their neighbour three house down.

 

“I don’t want to believe it either,” Theseus said gloomily. “But maybe Camilla is right. Just because we’re brothers doesn’t mean that we automatically trust each other.”

 

This was where Newt finally put his foot down and interrupt his brother’s moment of self-flagellation. “Theseus,” he said in his firmest, most unimpressed tone, “your latest girlfriend—like all the rest of them—hates me. She lives to make rifts between us. She also doesn’t know what she’s talking about because clearly I trust you, you miserable tosser, and not only because you’re my brother, but because I _love_ you. And that’s not going to change. So pull your head out of your arse and tell me what’s wrong for fuck’s sake.”

 

A weak surprised laugh came from Theseus. “She’s not that bad,” he muttered, leaning his head on Newt’s shoulder in apology.

 

Newt rolled his eyes but made no effort to pursue the subject. When Theseus fell in love, he did so with the same uncompromising intensity that ruled his approach to just about everything else—and Newt was not cruel enough to bring the fight on that front. “So what is it?” he returned to his original question.

 

There was another pause before Theseus finally answered, “I got a letter today. From America.”

 

“Bad news?”

 

“You tell me.” The hard edge returned, more terrible now that the words unravelled slowly, heavy with accusation. Theseus raised his head, staring Newt in the eye. “What could possibly be so bad that you feel like you have to conceal it from me?”

 

“Conceal what?”

 

“The fact that you’ve been married for the last five years.”

 

“ _What_.”

 

Instead of answering, Theseus removed a piece of paper from inside his jacket. It was a letter, written on a thick formal parchment with an unfamiliar crest engraved on top. The writer wrote in an elegant hand, first introducing herself as Mrs Elaine Fontaine née Graves. In a polite but concise wording, she then explained that she was acting on behalf of Octavianus Graves, the 8th head of the House of Graves, to approach the Scamander Family and open a discussion with a specific object in mind: the annulment of marriage between Percival Graves and Newton Scamander.

 

For a long moment, Newt found himself unable to think, let alone speak, the content of the letter echoing vainly in his head.

 

“So it’s true, isn’t it?”

 

It was the bitterness in his brother’s voice that shook him out of his daze. Newt blinked, then forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat.

 

“It’s not what you think,” he started, but Theseus interrupted him by pushing another piece of paper into his hand.

 

“Look, I’ve checked, all right? You can see it for yourself.”

 

It was a quotation from the International Marriage Registry, inked in gold and stamped and proven legal. The union between Newton Artemis Fido Scamander and Percival Edward Graves, it stated, took place on the 23rd of December 1917.

 

“No, Seus, this is _not_ what you think,” Newt spoke up again as soon as he could find his voice. “Oh, bugger, I never thought– but the circumstances were not exactly normal– he almost died!”

 

Theseus continued to regard him blankly. “What does that have to do with any marriage?”

 

Newt sighed and passed a hand across his face. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

 

“Well, neither of us is going anywhere until you tell me this so-called long story, so.”

 

Frowning, Newt watched the occasional cars passing on the street as he tried to arrange his words. He would be lying if he said that the mere recollection of it hadn’t pained him. On the other hand, his brother clearly would never let the subject go without an explanation.

 

“All right. Fine.” Newt took a deep breath to steel himself. “So. When I said circumstances, I really meant the war. Both of us had been in the continent since late 1915, right?”

 

“ _You_ against my express prohibition, as I recall.”

 

Newt couldn’t help a long-suffering sigh at the old line. “I was of age. Are we going to have this argument again?”

 

“You were _barely_ of age,” Theseus pointed out mulishly. “But anyway. Continue.”

 

“As I was saying, we were both in the war, although you were in France and I mostly worked with dragons in the eastern front. Around mid-1917, my squadron was assigned to deal with the giant uprising near Brașov in Romania. Dragons are practically the only thing they fear, so it’s a bit obvious, really.”

 

“I knew all this,” Theseus interrupted him impatiently. “What I want to know is where this bloody marriage came from.”

 

“I’m trying to tell you,” Newt said wryly. “So sometime around November, we met a contingent of American Aurors. They were tracking three fugitive dark wizards who had escaped their custody during all that confusion in Petrograd.”

 

“And this Percival Graves was one of those Aurors.”

 

“Yes.” Newt bit his lip. To this day, he still remembered the first moment he had laid eyes on Percival. The American Aurors had found themselves caught in the giants’ trap when Newt had spotted them during his patrol. He and Brennus, his dragon, had moved in to help, and together, they had managed to hold out long enough until his friends arrived. For his part, Newt had never seen anyone with such an effortless control over magic; it was like the very air itself bowed to obey Percival’s command.

 

“But the marriage?” Theseus insisted, startling him out of his recollections.

 

Newt cleared his throat. “Yes, that. Well. See, these three dark wizards, through whatever cunning, seemed to have acquired the protection of the giants. So we decided to join forces too. Giants are far from stupid, but with the help of those three, any threat they posed increased exponentially. They knew a trick or two on how to deal with dragons.”

 

“I still don’t see–”

 

“We were attacked,” Newt continued flatly, ignoring his brother’s interruption. “A week or so before Christmas. And this was no minor skirmish that we had had for months. This was a blow meant to eliminate us, once and for all.”

 

“I remember,” Theseus said slowly. “Your squadron took quite a hit.”

 

Newt nodded, swallowing thickly. It had been one of the darkest moments in his life—his friends reduced to half their number in one night, their encampment razed and scorched into nothing. Five dragons had also fallen victim to the attack, their death howls forever lurking in his nightmares. He and Brennus had escaped by a hair’s breadth, but Newt had also found out, for the first time in his life, how it felt to burn with so much desire to hurt others.

 

What had followed afterwards was definitely not one of his proudest moments. Even now, after five years, he found himself recoiling from the memories.

 

“Anyway.” He shrugged, a careless gesture, as if by pretending that something barely mattered could make it so. “I don’t really remember what happened next, but apparently a company of dwarves found us. As in Graves and I.”

 

“Dwarves?”

 

“Yes, there are dwarf colonies spread all over the region. We used to do some trade with them and I got to know quite a few pretty well. They really made the most delicious cheese–”

 

“Never mind the cheese,” Theseus said irritably. “What about this marriage?”

 

“I’m getting there,” Newt mumbled, gaze fixed on his restless fingers. “See, we were both hurt, but Vali and Bran—their _khamalet_ , healers—took care of me because we happened to know each other. But Graves, to them he was a stranger. And he was hurt. Badly.”

 

His brother was now staring at him like he had suddenly grown three heads. “Are you saying that you married this bloke only because– Newton!”

 

“It was the only way!” Newt replied defensively. “Dwarves have their own rules and customs. Their honour doesn’t allow them to offer aid to anyone other than family and friends. I begged and begged them, but it was no use. So, there was really no other choice. If I married him, then I would effectively make him my family, and therefore an extension of me, and since I was already their friend, now technically they could help him–”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Theseus groaned, pressing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “That’s the only reason you married him?”

 

“What other reason could there _possibly_ be?”

 

Theseus frowned but refused to take the bait. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he demanded instead.

 

“Seus, it was a _Dwarvish_ ceremony,” Newt said in the most patient tone he could manage at the moment. “Neither of us thought it would– seriously, my only goal was to save his life. This so-called marriage was nothing more than a bureaucratic red tape, something we had to do to get it done. I never thought that it would carry any legal weight because obviously we’re humans–”

 

“Except here it clearly says that you _are_ married,” his brother interrupted, ruthlessly brandishing the very much legal proof.

 

“So it would seem,” Newt mumbled, deflated.

 

Theseus lay back with a defeated sigh. “I hate my life,” he declared loudly, and then threw a sour glance at Newt. “You’re telling Mum.”

 

 

–

 

 

As it turned out, Valeria Scamander took the news much better than her eldest son had.

 

They were sitting around the kitchen table, each with a mug of hot tea (laced with a few drops of brandy, Theseus’s suggestion). She read the letter, listened to his explanation in noncommittal silence, and then concluded the process with a long sigh.

 

“Oh, Artemis.” She shook her head mournfully. “Of course if something as absurd as this must happen, then it would be to you.”

 

Newt raised his eyes wearily. “In my defence—and I think I’ve said this a dozen times now—I had no other choice.”

 

“Not at all the point, dear,” his mother said distractedly, her attention already back on the letter. “So this Percival Graves, he’s an American?”

 

“Which, by the way, is only the tip of the iceberg,” Theseus had cut in before Newt could open his mouth. “Even if we pretend that everything were daisies and roses between the Ministry and MACUSA, there’s still the fact that we’re dealing with the _Graves_.”

 

“Why?” She frowned, looking at her eldest. “What do you know about them?”

 

“Enough, at this point. The leading family in Wizarding America. Descended from the Original Twelve and still very much involved in politics today. So far they’ve had two presidents and at least a dozen senators in their roster. Oh, and they’re also disgustingly rich.” Theseus threw a wry look in Newt’s direction. “At least you struck gold there, little brother.”

 

Newt rolled his eyes but refused to grace the comment with a reply. “And this Percival?” their mother asked instead.

 

“No less impressive.” Theseus nodded dramatically. “Heir of the kingdom, as it were, eldest of three with a younger brother and sister. Not to mention he’s also the head of MACUSA’s DMLE and their new Director of Magical Security, only appointed last year. The youngest in history too according to the records—so yes, Newt definitely knew what he was doing when he married the fella.”

 

“Yes, because as he lay bleeding to death, the first thing I asked was whether he planned to become the next Director of Magical Security,” Newt muttered dryly.

 

Theseus grinned at him. “I’ve always said you’re the smartest in the family. Anyway, that’s all the information I’ve got so far. Been digging since the letter came. But what I’m saying is—other than I have a lunatic for a brother—with all those decorations, no wonder they want the marriage annulled.”

 

A sarcastic smile twisted Mrs Scamander’s mouth. “Ah, what is our humble little family in the greater scheme of things.”

 

“Precisely. And rumour is they’re looking to ally themselves with a Sacred Twenty-Eight. Their wealth will certainly carry weight with some of the struggling ones—so not exactly impossible as far as ambitions go. And if the rumour about what the Blacks are planning is true, then maybe they’ll want in too.”

 

Their mother made a derisive noise. Born into the powerful Malfoy family, she had cast every prestige that came with the name when she had chosen hippogriff breeder as a career path and married Edmund Scamander, a junior officer in the Muggle Liaison Office.

 

“Good for them, we’ll stay out of any of that nonsense.” She paused, looking at her youngest son. “Unless that’s not what you want?”

 

Newt shrugged, indifference an uneasy mask on his nervous face. “I knew him for two months at most.”

 

“You knew him for two months _in the war_ ,” she pointed out. “Your brother has babbled enough about the bond of wartime mates to convince me that it’s anything but ordinary.”

 

“Because it’s true,” Theseus mumbled, but his eyes had also settled on Newt, suddenly apprehensive.

 

“All I’m saying,” Mrs Scamander continued, “is that you don’t have to agree to the divorce if that’s not what you want. We can certainly try and bring the discussion to the opposite direction. We can invite him down here, for one, and see where it leads. Because if you really like him, Artemis, then it’s the only thing that matters.”

 

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat, desperately hiding the kind of painful havoc his heart was wreaking inside his chest. “He’s a good man,” he kept his voice neutral, settling for half-truths. “As far as I know, at least. But marriage is a serious business and the truth is I don’t know him well enough—or long enough—to decide on that kind of bond. With him or anyone else at the moment.”

 

Theseus nodded quickly, his relief obvious. “Good. We’ll tell them to come here next week so we can sort out this mess and get it over and done with. There’s no reason why we should be the ones hauling our arses across the Atlantic.”

 

Their mother remained silent for a moment longer. When she put her hand on his cheek, it held all the love and gentleness that almost undid Newt’s resolve.

 

“As long as you’re sure, love,” she said softly.

 

Newt only nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

 

 

–

 

 

The other letter came a few hours later, at three in the morning.

 

Newt had just sank into an uneasy sleep after tossing and turning for what had felt like hours. When the repeated tapping sound came to his windowpane, it took him more than a few bleary seconds to properly rouse himself and stumble over to open the window.

 

A big beautiful raven glided in, a roll of parchment between her claws. Newt managed a sleepy smile when she nipped his finger gently in greeting.

 

“A beauty, aren’t you? Wonder where you came from.”

 

The raven made a soft noise in return and nudged him with her delivery. Still smiling, Newt untied the black ribbon and unrolled the parchment.

 

The sight of the scorpion-and-vines crest froze the smile on his face.

 

 

_Dear Artemis,_

_Doubtless a letter from my family has reached you by now. The content must have come as a surprise, as it did to me when I first found out._

_I hope you will be amenable to the invitation to come and visit us in New York. However, if it is too inconvenient at present, then I can go to England instead. The matter certainly cannot be left as it is and we must find a solution most agreeable to both parties. We may not have parted in the best of terms, but what happened in the past is in the past and I think you agree that the future is more important._

_Please let me know your decision as soon as possible. Juno can carry your reply back after a full day’s rest._

_Yours truly,_

_Percival Graves_

 

 

It was not the cold impersonal tone that hurt him the most; it was the fact he was holding this letter with its compact neat handwriting and formal crest, and he knew—suddenly, without any shred of doubt—that even after five years, the writer was still holding the pieces of Newt’s heart in his hand.

 

_**End Chapter 1** _

 

 


End file.
